


a dream before waking

by regala_electra



Category: Glee, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regala_electra/pseuds/regala_electra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a dream before waking

**Author's Note:**

> Last month [](http://icedwhitemochas.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://icedwhitemochas.livejournal.com/)**icedwhitemochas** had requested someone write a Glee/Once Upon a Time crossover and this is what I sent her, now cleaned up for your reading pleasure. Set after the S1 finale/start of S2, after the curse in Storybrooke is broken.

It’s another day, another lesson and he tries very hard to pay attention to his student while something inside him aches faintly, a dream he almost had the night before still haunting him. He even gets out of his seat beside the piano and looks out of the window, still caught in a near echo of longing. There’s a strange haze outside his parlor window and then the forgotten dream is thrown into sharp relief. _He remembers_.

His student, no, _Grace_ , he remembers her true name, stumbles clumsily over the next passage at the piano, her eyes wide and horrified. “Where’s my dad?”

Blaine _remembers_ now, and she is not Paige, a girl he happily tutored three times a week, but Grace, Jefferson’s daughter, the sweet girl he’d often seen in the market selling mushrooms when he was first courting Kurt. Oh, how hard he’d pretended to be so very interested in the blacksmith’s work, despite Burt Hummel knowing precisely that Blaine was truly admiring his son. “I don’t know. Grace? Do you remember?”

“ _Yes_. And you’re—”

“Blaine,” he says, and he almost collapses against the wall. Kurt must be here. His memory is hazy, no, it’s double-sided, shattered into a prism of a life that isn’t real, not at all—the life of Blair, not a terribly original name, a poor tutor utterly terrified to sing in public, and had he—oh god, Kurt was here, he knew it, there was a tailor’s shop, and he recalled Blair ( _himself_ ) one day bumping into the weary man as he’d been hurrying into work and he’d been beautiful but Blair ( _he_ ) never risked anything, he never dared, but for that man, maybe he would, there had been a tug upon his heart, even under the Queen’s wicked curse—

“Grace,” he says, steadying himself, kneeling beside the girl, “I think I know where Kurt is. Maybe he’ll know where your father is.”

Grace’s chin wobbles. “He’s been gone so long. My parents…” she trails off doubtfully. “I don’t know who they really are.”

“Perhaps they’ll help you find your father.”

And sure enough, Grace’s not-mother arrives, in a daze and telling of her own story, pieces of it, taking Grace by the hand and swearing that she’ll help the poor child, voice full of tears.

Blaine tries very hard to be patient but he has no idea if the love of his life is patiently waiting for him or out searching _or what_ and he is in all a rush to find out, to see if his family is safe—Cooper, he has no recollection of where Cooper might be, he’d been off chasing a rumor of ogres. That’s the last thing he’d heard of his errant knight brother, not that Blaine could be faulted seeing as he and Kurt had run off to be married—and still were not as the curse struck before they’d even gotten to recite their vows.

The tailor’s shop is empty when he gets there, a “closed sign” hung crookedly in the window.

He presses his hand flat against the plane of glass. Closes his eyes.

The second born son of a disgraced duke ought not ask for anything. He should be thankful for whatever is given.

But Blaine’s always dreamed perhaps a little too hard.

He almost thinks he imagines the sharp inhale.

“Blaine?”

He turns and as he’s engulfed in the hurried, warm, deliriously perfect embrace, he breathes out, “My love.”


End file.
